Sergeant Slick Is Dead
by Evenmoor
Summary: Ex-Sergeant Slick of the Grand Army of the Republic: traitor to his brothers, now locked away and forgotten in a tiny cell somewhere. He is no one. Nothing. He might as well be dead. Even as the Clone Wars rage on, all he has to look forward to is this blank and empty room. Yet, despite his sins, someone still thinks he can be redeemed, if he can only see the truth.


Slick, disgraced former sergeant in the Grand Army of the Republic and traitor to his brothers, paced angrily in his cell. Though, at this point, it was more than a little out of boredom and frustration than actual anger anymore. Or maybe he'd been pacing in this tiny room so long it had become habit. Muscle memory. He had nothing else to do. Nothing.

Nothing. It had all been for nothing. His great betrayal. He saw no one, only the droids who delivered his food. Apparently, none of his brothers were willing to do it. With only his own thoughts as company, Slick now gazed over the precipice where he would stop bothering to pace. To eat. Simply… stop.

"Suicide would be the easy way out," a voice said suddenly.

Slick's head snapped around in shock. There was a person. An actual person, in the cell with him.

Not a clone, nor was the man wearing a GAR uniform. But not dressed like one of the karking Jedi, either. A civilian? But how had he gotten into the cell? Slick would surely have noticed someone opening the door. How- Oh.

Slick sagged against a wall. He'd finally lost his mind from the isolation, it seemed. It had to happen sooner or later.

"Who are you supposed to be?" he asked in resignation. Older in appearance than any _vod_ , with a paler complexion and a nose that resembled the prow of a cruiser. Where had this man's face come from? At least it was a change in pace from staring at an empty room.

The man smirked, slouching casually against the opposite wall.

"I'm fairly sure you're convinced that I'm a product of your imagination, so does it really matter? Really, I can be anyone you want me to be. But, for the ease of conversation, call me Ben."

"Fine. Why are you here?" Even if this Ben character was the result of his mind finally cracking, Slick found it bizarrely easy to simply treat him as actually real and present. As tortures of a delusional mind went, Ben was merely annoying. And he didn't have the face or voice of a _vod_. It wasn't like Slick had anything else to do, anyway.

Ben's gaze flickered across the bare cell, as if taking it all in.

"I heard what happened. How you passed information to the Separatists and destroyed the weapons depot. You're not very popular out there right now. I'm really rather surprised you didn't trip over a thermal detonator on your way here."

"They don't get it," Slick sighed, gesturing vaguely towards the door. To his brothers. "None of them get it. We're slaves, fighting and dying at the bidding of the Jedi, and we're all just walking right into the blaster fire at their whim!"

"Indeed, for an ancient order that proclaims itself to be about peace and justice, the Jedi sure seem to be big on hypocrisy," Ben agreed easily, his slouch deepening. Slick was momentarily taken aback by the immediate concurrence. "So, the plan was get the big payoff from the Separatists and desert at the first available opportunity."

"I just wanted something more! More than... than _this_! How is that wrong?"

"Oh, it's not wrong. Your desire to determine your own destiny is perfectly rational and sound for any sentient being."

Slick narrowed his eyes suspiciously, standing up straight once more.

"I'm not an idiot," he growled at the apparition. "Don't treat me like one."

"I'm not! I really do think that forcing the clones to fight this war is wrong," Ben protested fervently, which transformed abruptly back into his original careless smirk. "The manner in which you decided to demonstrate your independence, however, was mind-blowingly stupid."

Slick's temper flared before he remembered that he was talking to himself. A figment of his own mind. He might as well punch himself if he punched Ben.

"If you weren't a hallucination, I'd put my fist through your face."

"If I were a hallucination, you really would put your fist through my face. And probably damage your hand on the wall, so it's just as well you didn't take a swing at me." Ben seemed entirely unperturbed by Slick's threat.

"So, I assume you're gonna tell me exactly how I was so stupid. Because it's really gonna make one karking bit of difference now," Slick snorted in derision, forcing down his anger.

"First off, you actually trusted the Separatists to keep up their end of the bargain when it's in their best interests to just string you along until you get caught and either killed attempting escape or shot by firing squad. They lose nothing, not even whatever credits they promised. The Republic loses hundreds, if not thousands, of soldiers and valuable matériel. And you, well... you lose everything."

Slick glared at the other man, but refused to respond. Ben shrugged slightly after a moment of silence.

"I'm curious - what would you do if, hypothetically speaking, say, a Jedi came and offered you a way out?"

"I'd sooner shoot the Jedi in the face." Slick's anger turned to cold distaste. "They're responsible for putting me in this hole in the first place."

"No, you are responsible for putting yourself here. Credit where credit's due. No Jedi compelled you to spy for the Separatists or blow up a weapons depot. You see, you are just so wound up in your own problems that you completely missed that almost every other clone trooper in the GAR is in the same boat you are. And your actions, yours, got I don't even know how many of them killed. Were any of them just as unhappy being soldiers as you? Wished they were somewhere, anywhere else? Or did they love it, believe in the Republic cause with every fiber of their being? I don't know. But neither do you. And now they're dead, regardless. That's on you, Slick, not the Jedi."

Slick felt the blood drain from his face, and he looked away, unable to maintain eye contact. But Ben ruthlessly stepped back into his line of sight.

"Remember Jester, Gus, Punch? Sketch? Chopper? They trusted you. You were their sergeant. You were their brother. And every trooper who died because of your betrayal, they were your brothers, too."

"It doesn't matter anymore." Slick collapsed against the wall, sliding to the floor in despair and resting his forehead in his palms. "It's not like I can bring them back. What's done is done."

"Of _course_ it still matters. Even if you die here in this room, five minutes from now, _it still matters_. It took me a very long time to accept this, but how you die can be just as important as how you live. A man can be a coward for a lifetime but still perform a final heroic act that redeems him. Another man could be a noble and righteous force for good, only to betray it all in the end. Even if no other soul in the universe knows. So no, you can't change the past. But imagine just for a moment that you could change the _future_ : if you could leave this room, would you go find the nearest blaster and end it? Would you run away from everything, find some lonely corner of the cosmos and try to hide from it all? Who will you be? Because Slick, traitor to the GAR, is dead, one way or the other. So, I'll ask you again: if you could walk out of here, what would you do?"

Slick opened his mouth to say something, only to close it again a moment later as he realized that he had no words. Ever since the cell doors had closed on him, his world, his whole existence, had shrunk to the size of this room. To leave here, with everything that had happened, it just seemed impossible. And yet, despite the despair of a few minutes earlier, Slick abruptly realized something: he wanted to live.

But he could no longer be a soldier in this war. He would not dance to the Jedi's tune. And his brothers hated him. What was left for him?

"I don't know," he finally admitted.

Ben stepped up to him, practically within reach.

"Live. Grow stronger. Fight another day. You're not the only person to have betrayed his brothers and paid the price. This war has taken on a life of its own, and I think the Jedi are just as much pawns as the clones," he said seriously. But Slick could see a peculiar glint in Ben's eyes, glittering in the harsh lighting of the cell.

Slick suddenly had a very odd feeling. Without thinking, he reached out and put his hand on Ben's shoulder, feeling the warmth of flesh and bone beneath the fabric of his tunic.

"But…" Slick half-whispered.

"I never actually said I was a hallucination, did I?" Ben abruptly grinned. "Either that, or you're so utterly delusional that it doesn't matter in the slightest. So, do you want to stay here in your box, or get another chance at life? You have about fifteen seconds to make up your mind before they realize someone's in here with you and get curious."

All things considered, it really wasn't that hard a decision for Slick.


End file.
